


A new equilibrium

by teeglow



Series: Constance and Aramis, heart to heart [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Subdued Aramis, Tag to S3 E5, To Kill the King, Wise Constance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 13:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15316056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teeglow/pseuds/teeglow
Summary: Tag to S3 E5: To Kill The King. The Musketeers return to the garrison after Aramis saves the Queen's life and Constance is dismayed to see them so subdued with one another. Fortunately, Constance can always be relied on to knock some sense into Aramis and he finds things do not look quite as bad when faced head-on.





	A new equilibrium

Constance watches as the four Musketeers ride into the garrison, Athos in the lead, D'Artagnan and Porthos following not far behind and Aramis bringing up the rear. She notices immediately that there is something off. There is a kind of forced levity that, truthfully, has been there ever since the four men reunited so few months ago. But Athos is shooting furtive glances at Aramis now and D'Artagnan and Porthos are barely looking at him. His face is bleeding.

'What happened?' she asks, approaching the quartet. 'Aramis, your face.'

He waves her off as he dismounts, the others doing the same beside him. 'It's nothing.'

'Someone tried to kill the Queen,' Athos answers, with a withering glance in Aramis' direction.

Constance looks alarmed. 'Is she okay?'

'She's fine. Aramis,' Athos pauses to look at his friend, 'got in the way.'

Constance follows Athos' gaze to look at Aramis, who is gently pressing the wound on his face. He shrugs and she doesn't know whether she wants to hit him or hug him. He was supposed to be keeping a low profile. 

'Thank god,' she says, deciding to focus on the bigger picture, that being the safety of the Queen – the safety of her best friend. 'Was anyone else hurt?'

D'Artagnan seems to wilt a little at that, Constance can tell, but he straightens himself up quickly, looks away and composes himself, lest his wife see. For all that he knows her, knows everything about her, he can be frightfully dense. 

'The culprit. But everyone else is fine. Aramis just got a scratch.'

Scratch, thinks Constance huffily, who notices out of the corner of her eye the way Aramis winces, the way blood still leaks from the wound and how drawn the marksman looks. Though she expects the latter is less to do with the events of today alone; the bags under his eyes have been growing ever since his return. 

There's a silence as each man hands off his horse to a waiting cadet and they brush themselves down. Conversation doesn't seem to come quite as easily as it used to and it's Porthos who disturbs the quiet that's descended upon them.

'So who wants a drink then? I don't know about you but I could do with one.'

'I agree,' says Athos. 'It's been quite a day.'

'You don't mind do you?' asks D'Artagnan, approaching her with a kiss in his eyes. She smiles. 

'Don't be silly. Maybe I'll join you.' He smiles indulgently in return and kisses her on the cheek before plonking himself heavily across from Athos. His shoulders seem slumped, but whatever the problem is, he's not ready to tell her. Athos hands him a tankard. 

Porthos turns to sit beside the youngest Musketeer but he stops halfway when he catches sight of the marksman, who can't seem to stop pressing his cheek.

'Aramis, you joining us?' 

D'Artagnan and Athos don't seem to have noticed anything and are in deep conversation. Constance frowns slightly. 

Aramis looks up at his friend and smiles, but Constance doesn't think it quite meets his eyes. 'Not tonight for me. Best see to this.' He gestures to his face. 'I'll see you later maybe.' He puts a hand on the bannister and a foot on the stairs but still waits for Porthos to answer.

They both know they won't see each other until morning. 'Shout if you need any help' is Porthos' reply and he sits down, sliding his tankard toward him too roughly given the offhand tone he'd tried to pass off. 

Aramis waves him off and runs a tired hand through his hair as he begins his ascent up the wooden staircase to his room. Constance thinks Aramis misses the way all three of his friends look at his retreating back and the way Porthos' gaze lingers ever so slightly longer before he's out of sight. 

Constance sighs. Why are men like this? Why can't they see what's right in front of their face? And why do they never ask for help?

Silently, she leaves the boys to it and goes to the kitchens to ask Serge for some hot water. He pours some out into a bowl for her and she takes a towel off the pile of clean linen in the corner. Towel thrown over one shoulder and bowl in hand, she makes her way to Aramis' room, passing the boys unacknowledged. She kicks the door gently with her feet when she arrives.

'Aramis, it's Constance.'

There's a moment before he answers but when he does, he doesn't sound annoyed. 'Come in.'

She enters and sees him sitting on the bed, leant forward, still pressing his cheek and wincing when it hurts.

'Stop touching it, you'll make it worse,' she says, striding across the room and setting the bowl down on his bedside table.

To her surprise, his hand falls from his face and he sits up straighter, as if noticing that she's there. She stands in front of him and dips the corner of the cloth in the water before turning to him.

'Constance, you really don't have to-'

She raises her hand to his face and turns it so she can get a better look at his cheek. It's a rather shallow graze but it still needs cleaning. And really, he's lucky to be alive.

'So someone shot you, hmm?' she asks. 

'Not intentionally.'

Constance raises her eyebrows and presses the cloth to his cheek.

'He was aiming for Ana- for the Queen.'

'Aramis.'

He sighs. 'I know.'

She dips the cloth in the water, barely watching as it turns a sickly red, before pressing the cloth to his cheek again. 'How is she?' she asks quietly, after a moment.

Aramis turns to look at her but she pushes his face back so she can see to his wound. He doesn't move, just wipes his palms down the seam of his trousers.

'I don't know. Alive.' He takes a deep breath. 'The King wasn't happy.'

Constance frowns. 'That you saved her life?'

'I don't think it was the saving of her life that was the problem, so much as the fact it was me that did it.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

Silence falls between them again and she gently wipes the dried blood from where it had dripped down to his beard. 'Did the Queen say anything to you?'

He glances at her from the corner of his eye. 'No. Well, yes. Sort of. She-' he pauses and rubs at his jawline. 'She thanked me for saving her life. And asked if I was injured.' He goes to touch his cheek again, where Anne's hand had ghosted less than an hour earlier, but Constance slaps it down. 'But we've not exchanged any more than that since I returned.' He sounds matter-of-fact about it but there's no mistaking his sadness when he adds: 'Unless you count telling me to stay away.'

Constance nods. 'You're lucky. You don't need stitches.' She puts the cloth down next to the bowl and Aramis smiles at her.

'Thank you.'

'She's right, you know.'

Aramis' shoulders tense but he pretends they don't, turning away to fiddle absentmindedly with his bed clothes. 'About what?'

'Staying away.'

'Constance-' he starts.

'I know, Aramis. I know you love her. And- and, well, frankly, she loves you too. But four years is a long time and she doesn't need enemies at court now. You've got to keep your distance.'

Aramis almost rolls his eyes. 'Don't you think I know that?' he says, not quite managing to keep the snap out of his voice. 'Don't you think I want to keep away? Last time-' His voice fails and he has to exhale deeply before he can continue. 'Last time I failed, she almost died. My fr-' he stops before lowering his voice. 'My friends almost died.'

'You almost died,' Constance adds gently but Aramis shakes his head.

'I went away because I made a vow to God and I thought that was it. But it's not.' He looks sadly at Constance. 'I lost everything. And still it's not enough.'

He looks up at the ceiling, licks his lips in an effort to maintain is composure and Constance wonders if this was a wound she shouldn't have touched. 'You haven't lost everything,' she says quietly, after a moment, sitting herself down beside him.

He looks at Constance knowingly. 'You know as well as I do that things are not the same,' he says, and suddenly Constance knows exactly why he's so drained and it's nothing to do with Anne. Although that bond between them, constantly struggling between taut and loose, can't be helping any.

'Aramis,' she says sadly. 'They love you, you must know that.'

They've spoken briefly about this before, after the incident with Pauline but Aramis had been drunk then, and desperately sad about his friend. Constance hoped the situation had improved but now she thinks about it, perhaps Aramis is right. Things are not the same and it's not just teething problems.

Aramis doesn't answer her, just raises his hands to his face again with a wince. 'I thought my battle wound days were over,' he says, feigning lightness to avoid the subject. Constance plays along but she has no intention of letting him do so forever.

'It's hardly a battle wound,' she scoffs. 'Looks more like you've been in a fight with a kitten.'

The corners of Aramis' lips turn up at that. 'The thanks you get for defending the Queen's life…'

Constance smiles. 'We're all grateful,' she assures him. 'And I'm sure Louis will come round. Give you all the riches in the land, if you're lucky.'

'I'd be happy if he just let me keep my life, to be honest.'

She looks at him sternly. 'Aramis.'

'Sorry,' he replies, looking duly chastised. There's silence between them for just a moment before he turns sincere. 'Constance, I really am, you know. Sorry.'

She nods. 'I know.'

He sighs. 'I don't think the others do.'

'They do.'

He shakes his head, smiling ruefully. 'No. They don't. They think I'm doing it again.' His brow creases and Constance knows this struggle, has felt in in her own heart when she was in love with D'Artagnan but married to someone else. She places her hand over his.

'They just want the best for you, Aramis. We all do. The Queen included.'

He looks down at his knees and doesn't say a word. Constance squeezes his hand. 'You've got to stay away.'

'I know,' he murmurs. 'I just wish I knew how.'

Constance doesn't have any answers, though she wishes she did. Instead she pats his knee and stands. 

'Well why don't you go downstairs and join the others for starters?' she says. 'You hardly need bed rest with that scratch.'

'Hey, I fell down a flight of stairs today too, in case you've forgotten,' he says, wincing a little. 'I never used to creak this much.'

'Stop complaining,' she says, feigning her best stern look, though its a shadow of the one she used earlier. 'You're a Musketeer, not a mouse.'

'That would explain the kitten fight, though,' he replies, raising his hand to touch his cheek again before Constance bats it back down.

'Aramis,' she says seriously. 'Go and join your friends. It will do you good.'

He sighs, but gets to his feet with only a little effort. 'Perhaps you're right,' he replies. 'You almost always are.'

She nods smugly and Aramis grins, before wincing as it stretches his cheek. Constance rolls her eyes and tells him to stop being such a baby. The patter between them is beautifully familiar, and Aramis wonders just why its so easy for him to have this with Constance but not with the others. He supposes the difference is Constance never felt like she had been abandoned. Porthos, for one, missed Aramis every day. But Aramis only knows this because the feeling is mutual.

So, yes, he concedes Constance is right. He's going to have to swallow his pride and face his friends, even if they think he's back to his old tricks seducing the queen. He hates that they might think he's a liability, they never used to think that before. It's tiring, this close to them but not _close_ to them. It's hard work and every second of _small talk_ makes him heartsick. But he knows isolating himself further isn't going to help ease the tension between them; it can only drive them further apart. 

So with a quick squeeze of Constance's arm, he goes to open the door. He holds it for her as she passes him with an encouraging smile, and he exits just in time to see Athos running out of the gate. He watches almost wistfully as his friend leaves and almost wants to turn back, because what's even the point? Athos is leaving and he can't even guess why. He doesn't know these men anymore. The crack feels like it's widening, but fortunately Constance is there, nudging him to look where D'Artagnan is sat at the table, Porthos approaching him, saying something they can't quite catch from up the stairs. 

Aramis descends stairs, with Constance not far behind, and the air seems to turn cold. D'Artagnan is drinking and Porthos looks down at his feet when Aramis joins them. The silence is, frankly, deafening. 

'Are we interrupting?' he asks, tentatively as he approaches. He pulls a cup of wine over, assuming that normal conversation will resume but it doesn't and D'Artagnan merely scowls into his cup. Porthos stays silent, though he does grace Aramis with a look that tells him not to worry, which Aramis hates to take as an improvement. 

'What's wrong with you?' Constance asks, looking across at her husband with concern. D'Artagnan downs his drink and shrugs sullenly. 'Nothing. I'm fine,' he says shortly, before getting to his feet and leaving without another word and it's up to Constance to give the other two an apologetic look before she follows him. She spares the quickest of glances for Aramis, who returns her gaze with a sad, understanding smile that she hates so much to leave behind. But her husband clearly needs her, and so she must. 

'Something I said?' Aramis says to Porthos once she's gone, the slightest catch in his voice betraying any offhand attitude he was trying to get across. 

It doesn't escape Porthos' attention that Aramis looks crestfallen as D'Artagnan leaves, despite the poor attempt to hide it. They are not so far gone that he can't still see through him. He feels a brief stab of guilt as he thinks of his behaviour recently. He knows he's been pushing his best friend away. He knows that Aramis is a seasoned soldier, and barbs to the contrary haven't been fair, that he should be glad that his friend wasn't there to go through the particular horrors of this war, because goodness knows, he's been through enough. 

He knows deep down that he can't blame Aramis for making a vow, just as he can't blame him for not quite understanding what it is they've all been through these past few years. He has to help him understand. At least give him a chance to help. Porthos knows with certainty that he can help. That's why he missed him so much. 

So he sits down opposite him and pours his friend some wine. 'He's had a tough day. The guy he shot was a survivor of the Siege of Salas.'

Aramis looks at him for a second as Porthos pushes his cup into his hand and then lets out a low whistle. 'No wonder the boy's upset,' he says. Porthos looks at him, confused as to how Aramis knows about the siege and Aramis fights the urge to roll his eyes. 'I told you, the monastery didn't escape the war. We often heard word from outside.'

This needles Porthos, but he suppresses the retort that still Aramis didn't come to his side. He just pours himself some wine and takes a swig. 'He did what he had to do. But the King isn't helping himself, throwing parties like that when the rest of Paris starves.'

'Careful,' Aramis warns, without thinking. 'To the wrong ears, that might sound an awful lot like sedition.'

Porthos bites back again the response that lingers on his tongue, that it's a bit rich coming from a man who slept with the Queen. 'Well, if it's wrong to value the lives of poor people, then Louis can hang me,' he says instead. 

'Don't even joke.'

'I'm not joking.'

Silence descends between them again, and Aramis wonders if Porthos thinks he's not sympathetic. He is. He wonders if Porthos thinks Aramis is loyal to the throne and the throne only. He isn't. 

His loyalty has always been to his brothers, even when others have faltered, even when he himself appeared to have faltered. He just wants them all to be safe and the world to be just. He wants to say all this aloud right now, but he can't find the words. So he drinks instead and hopes, somehow, that Porthos knows it without him saying. 

'Does it hurt?' Porthos asks after a while. Aramis looks up at him questioningly, and Porthos motions to his face. 

'Oh,' he replies. 'It's not so bad. I've had worse.'

'Can say that again,' Porthos says. 'Still, shaved years off my life, it did. Thought he'd got you.'

Aramis almost doesn't dare to hope, but he knows what Porthos is really saying - what he's really offering, by the way of admitting his concern. The telling off Aramis had received all those years ago for jumping on a bomb for the Queen – this is but a more subdued version of that. Porthos is telling Aramis he cares, and offering him a hand. 

'Sorry, my friend. I did not mean to worry you.'

'Ah, I'm always worried about you, you know that.' Porthos smiles. 'Besides, someone's got to. You're a menace.'

Aramis smiles in return and for once, it is easy to do so. 'Still, I hate being responsible for your shortened lifespan. Please tell me if there's a way I can repay the debt.'

Porthos thinks for a moment and then raises his eyebrows conspiratorially. 'Remember that bottle game we used to play?'

Aramis laughs at that. 'How could I possibly forget? But I don't see how that's going to improve your lifespan.'

'Well, if you're still as good a shot as you used to be-'

'Porthos, you wound me.'

Porthos smirks. 'Well then, put it this way, I know a few gents who could do with lightening their pockets.'

Aramis looks at him for a second, and feels the years between them starting to melt away. He drains his cup and places it back on the table with a loud hollow thud. 'Just name the day.'

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As with the others, if I've fudged up the timelines a little, let's not worry too much about it.


End file.
